Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Ann Davidow-Goodman, featured in The Letters Of Sylvia Plath Volume I: 1940–1956
[Text ID: I know I’ll always think of you with something like hurt and nostalgia―and a great deal of love.]
Today's Document

if i look back, i am lost

ellievsbear

Origami Around
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Peter Solarz
No title available
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

shark vs the universe

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
almost home
NASA
EXPECTATIONS

Kiana Khansmith
Jules of Nature
Sade Olutola
occasionally subtle
Claire Keane

blake kathryn
seen from United States

seen from United Arab Emirates

seen from Bulgaria
seen from United States

seen from Sweden

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Romania

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
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seen from Netherlands
@liquid-blue
Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Ann Davidow-Goodman, featured in The Letters Of Sylvia Plath Volume I: 1940–1956
[Text ID: I know I’ll always think of you with something like hurt and nostalgia―and a great deal of love.]
Portrait of Jennie (1948) // dir. William Dieterle
Isabel Allende, The House of the Spirits
Greenhouse reading nooks 🌱
— Carol Rifka Brunt in Tell The Wolves I'm Home
Mieko Kawakami, from 'Heaven'
Haruki Marukami
Charles Lindbergh
Simone de Beauvoir, from a letter to Jean-Paul Sartre
I go among trees and sit still. All my stirring becomes quiet around me like circles on water. My tasks lie in their places where I left them, asleep like cattle.
Then what is afraid of me comes and lives a while in my sight. What it fears in me leaves me, and the fear of me leaves it. It sings, and I hear its song.
Then what I am afraid of comes. I live for a while in its sight. What I fear in it leaves it, and the fear of it leaves me. It sings, and I hear its song.
After days of labor, mute in my consternations, I hear my song at last, and I sing it. As we sing, the day turns, the trees move.
Wendell Berry, from Sabbaths
Wendell Berry
“Shall we do without hope? Some days there will be none. But now to the dry and dead woods floor they come again, the first flowers of the year, the assembly of the faithful, the beautiful, wholly given to being. And in this long season of machines and mechanical will there have been small human acts of compassion, acts of care, work flowerlike in selfless loveliness. Leaving hope to the dark and to a better day, receive these beauties freely given, and give thanks.”
Wendell Berry, excerpt from an untitled poem in Leavings
#hafez
“Even after all this time the sun never says to the earth, 'You owe me.' Look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky.”